An Assassins' Retrospection
by jori-ulrand
Summary: A journal reveals to us a small look into Connor's personal life. [This is really just a way for me to get Connor and Mckenna's story established. I haven't spent a great deal of time on it, but I hope you will enjoy it anyways ]


June 5, 1785.

The past month has been dark and overwhelming. A constant flood of faces of the people whose lives I've ended disturb me in my sleep. Flashbacks in the middle of the daytime haunt me relentlessly. So, with the constant persistence of a dear friend, I have decided to inscribe all of the wonderful things that I have been given in this life that I most undoubtedly am not worthy to call my own into this journal.

Perhaps I should just start at the beginning. In my beginning there were three people, my mother, Kanen'tókon, and McKenna Walker. They were all that mattered to me when I was young.

My mother was my protector. When I was a lad, there was nothing that she couldn't do. Just her words could move mountains. Yet, a moment after she moved those mountains her arms would wrap around me with such tenderness and warmth that I could practically feel the power of her love for me, a love that I do not even try to understand. A mother's love for her child is a mysterious force. My child like faith in my mother's invincibility was ripped from me too soon.

Kanen'tókon was my dearest friend. Even in my darkest moods, he could lift my spirits to where I almost felt like a normal boy. I'm still unable to talk much about him.

Then there was McKenna. I'll never forget the first time I ever laid eyes on her. My mother had been good friends with hers. Before her death, Mrs. Walker invited us to eat with their family who lived within walking distance from our village. When I saw their daughter, I was completely captivated by her beauty. Although I was not in love with her, considering we were both very young, her bright eyes enchanted me. I had never seen blue eyes before and I had possibly stared at them for hours on end. You could even go as far as calling her eyes a pale purple. Although her long raven black hair was comparable to those in my village, I was also used to her pale skin, as I had watched many settlers from a distance, I simply cannot emphasize the beauty of her eyes.

Her good-natured temperament and quiet disposition drew me to her as well, leading me to always crave her company. Even right after my mother's death and the years after that, I visited her often. I never tired of her.

Of course being a boy at the ornery age of seven, I naturally gravitated toward the other boys in my village to spend my free time with. While I was teased for it more times than I can count, I set aside certain days specifically for spending time with her.

I have never acknowledged this fact until now, possibly because my pride forbade me to do so, but the brightest and most fond memories I have as a child was when I agreed to play McKenna's favorite game, for she loved to play dolls.

We must have been an odd pair; a gangly seven year old Kanien'kehá:ka boy playing dolls with a incredibly fair skinned girl not yet four, who honestly looked like fragile porcelain in comparison to my rustic build and color.

She was smart for her age and often spoke like an adult. She brought this manner into our games. Just to tease her, I would often make our game take an impossible turn, for example pretending one of the toys grew wings and flew away. This would frustrate her, causing her usual beaming face to turn into a toddler like scowl. She then claimed that if I persisted in making her dolls do such impossible things that it ruined the life likeness of the game. The majority of the time I obeyed her rules.

I could not tell you why I treasured those afternoons of make believe so much, perhaps because my childlike innocence was short lived. Now when I try to remember what it was like to be young and free of worries, her face, small and young, appears.

Now the candle light is dim and the sun is starting to rise. I need to try to sleep. Although I had not intended to write only about her, writing about McKenna has relaxed me more than I expected. Perhaps I will continue these ramblings again when I am suffering from sleeplessness once again.


End file.
